


Checkmate

by tguess



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, period ablist slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-01
Updated: 2002-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-25 06:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19739860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tguess/pseuds/tguess
Summary: Parody/comedy with Enterprise Crew or simply put, 'be careful what you wish for...'





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Note from LadyKardasi and Sahviere, the archivists: this story was originally archived at [Side by Side](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Side_by_Side_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. We tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Side by Side’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sidebyside/profile).
> 
> Author's Notes:
> 
> Beta Help: Much thanks and appreciation to JSC for her editing, French lessons and suggestions! "The Long and Winding Road" was made easier with her patience, guidance and thoughtful FB.
> 
> Warnings: *squicks*, raunchy humor, alien sex, & fake butter on the popcorn. (No one will be seated during the "bend over and cluck like a chicken" scene.)

It was one of _those_ days.

The kind of day when James T. Kirk just wanted to jump back into bed, pull the covers over his thinning hair-line and say, "fuck it"!

Jim let out a deep, prolonged sigh.

The endless weeks of tedious routine had taken its toll on the entire crew. Yes, even the famous Enterprise team could be slowly but surely sucked into a vortex of apathy by the combined evils of repetition, attrition, and a dreary mission.

The ship was on extended patrol gathering space debris and solar crud from a star that had gone postal, taking out all innocent planets in the quadrant. Spock had blamed the violent eruption on an overload of internal and external stress, and logged the mishap as an "AK-47".

The work was necessary, but incredibly boring. Their orders were clear; just bag 'em & tag 'em.

Without access to class M planets and shore leave, there had been zero opportunity to raise hell with the unsuspecting inhabitants; no bar room altercations, no illicit sex with nubile virgins, no fights to the death with creepy, lisping lizardoids, not even the loss of a single witless security guard...

What was a captain to do?

Even the "Friday Night Polka Fest and Schnitzel Eating Contest" that Kirk had ordered had not been able to lift the lethargy of his crew.

It was bad enough that Lt. Uhura had begun to defuzz her legs while on the bridge, and that Sulu and Chekov secretly fondled each other under the navigation console, but when Kirk caught Mr. Scott and his officers dodging baby tribbles in an impromptu game of splat-ball, he took action.

It was time for Dr. McCoy's expert medical opinion, sound judgment, and warm words of advice.

Jim arrived in sick bay just as Bones was exiting surgery.

"...I don't know what the fuck it is, Nurse, but hurry up and pack it in ice."

McCoy flung off his snorkeling gloves and scuba mask, then invited the captain into his office. After pouring them both a drink, he said, "Tell me what you need, Jim, and I'll tell you how to do without it."

After a long, heated debate, Kirk asked about using medical intervention, but Leonard flatly refused to prescribe drugs. He was making too much money dealing them on the side.

"Getting the crew hopped up on 'goof balls' isn't the solution, Jimmy-boy," McCoy replied, shaking his head. "You'll have to find another answer."

Kirk flung himself on the floor in a full tantrum, pounding his fists, kicking his legs, yelling about how unfair it all was. He threatened to hold his breath until he turned blue.

"Jim, stop making a career out of your mid-life crisis," Bones sighed, wondering how he would explain the chinks in the linoleum.

Now, five days later, even McCoy sat half-slouched at the mess hall table, bitching about how the confederates had lost the civil war to a bunch of damn candy-pants Yankees. The doctor had passed grouchy an hour ago, had rounded into irascible, and was sliding into surly at full steam. He was also lapsing into his incredibly annoying southern drawl. Kirk leaned close to McCoy just long enough to whisper, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

The first officer wasn't much better. Spock sat staring vacantly at the chess game in front of him. After playing five matches in a row, he was now taking him at least a good ten minutes to make a decision, as if his powers of concentration had been surgically eradicated. In fact, he had been more animated when his brain HAD been stolen.

For an instant, Kirk wished he had kept the remote control, so he could pull it out and -click!- instantly force Spock to pick up that damn Queen! But noooooooo. Spock just sat there as if he had the attention span of an overripe grapefruit.

At the next table, a group of engineers began singing: "400 octillion bottles of beer on the wall, 400 octillion bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, three hundred ninety-nine septillion, nine hundred ninety-nine sextillion, nine hundred ninety-nine quintillion, nine hundred ninety-nine quadrillion, nine hundred ninety-nine trillion, nine hundred ninety-nine billion..."

Kirk turned back to the game and openly glared at his first officer. When the hell was he going to move something? On closer inspection, Kirk suddenly noticed that Spock's hair seemed to be...greasy. Yes, it was definitely not pristine as usual. The dark bangs on Spock's forehead had separated into stringy strands and clumped together haphazardly. Come to think of it, Bones also looked downright grubby.

"Mr. Spock, is there a malfunction with your shower?"

Ever so slowly...frustratingly slowly... Spock finally raised his graceful fingers to reposition his Bishop...lifted it half-heartedly into the air...paused for a long, drawn out moment...only to return it to its original location.

//Urggggg!// Jim gripped the chair tighter, clenching his jaw. //Move something or I'll strangle you with my jock strap!//

"The shower is functioning perfectly, Jim. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it looks like you skipped yours this morning...Is...is that the same uniform you wore yesterday?"

Kirk leaned closer, observing the small brown flakes on the front of the blue shirt. "It's spotted with the sawdust pellets you had last night for dinner...

"Is this a new ploy to distract me from your hand on my thigh?" Spock inquired, concluding with yawn, not even bothering to suppress it.

"My hand? It's not my..." Kirk turned to glare at Bones. The CMO glanced away sheepishly as his arm reappeared from under the table.

Spock finally looked up, a completely blasé expression on his face. "It seemed illogical to expend the time and energy to change when this uniform is perfectly functional in its current condition."

"You slept in it?"

"I believe that is what I just said."

"Damn it, Jim, what do you expect?" Bones griped, drumming his fingers on the table. "Everyone is BORED out of their skulls. If I have to hear one more rendition of "Nights In White Satin" on an accordion, I'll cut my own throat!"

Spock swiveled towards the CMO.

"Do you require any assistance, Doctor?"

"Jim, you keep the shuttlecraft running while I hit him with a bag of oranges!"

"Enough, gentlemen!" Kirk barked. "Quick frankly, you both stink. If you can't find the energy to do it yourselves, then I will haul you into the shower and personally scrub your hides with a stiff brush."

Spock half-cocked a weary eyebrow. "Rub-a-dub-dub."

Kirk nearly fell out of his chair. What had gotten into Spock? This was too much. The CMO had turned from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde, and his first officer had become a second-rate comic AND a slob.

"I _wish_ something, ANYTHING, would happen," Kirk said abjectly. "Even a 'Bird of Prey' in full battle mode off the starboard bow would be a welcome distraction."

Suddenly, the intercom whistle blew. "Red Alert! Captain Kirk to the bridge! Intruder alert! All decks, intruder alert!"

At this very moment, a deranged alien monster might be torturing his crew without mercy. Kirk was so happy, he couldn't wipe the silly grin off his face.

*********************************

//A huge blurry blob on the main viewer!// Kirk gasped to himself as he exited the turbolift. //Oh, no, wait - it's just Sulu's fat head in the way again...//

In the center of the bridge, the alien intruder looked neither deranged nor grotesque. It was an attractive young woman dressed in a Terran 18th century silk gown dripping with fine lace and layers of ruffles. Her golden hair was piled on her head in cascading curls and lightly dusted with white power. Her breasts reminded Kirk of two giant orthopedic pillows!

She seemed rather amused at the crew's reaction to both her instantaneous appearance on the bridge and her generously proportioned mammary glands.

Kirk approached the female, extending his hand, but his eyes were riveted to her ample chest.

"Jim Kirk! Damn glad to meet you! I'm captain of this ship. I'm honest, sincere, and don't smoke, and love to travel, walk on the beach, or have a social drink to take the stress out of the..."

The girl gave him her hand daintily and allowed him to fondle it for a second before snatching it away. She then spoke to the entire bridge crew:

"Bonjour, mesdames et messieurs. Today I am Marie Antoinette, although you may address me as Marie." Then the girl giggled, spoiling the regal effect, and plucked at the lace that hung from her wrist. Even though she looked about twenty years old in human terms, she spoke and acted as if she were twelve.

//Just my kind of woman// Kirk thought. // Perhaps she'd consider signing on as Captain's Yeoman?//

"Marie Antoinette...as in 'let them eat cake'?" questioned Bones, almost sarcastically. "The French queen, Marie Antoinette..."

"Ah, oui! But I don't plan to lose my head," the girl sniffed. "At least not over some silly thing like confectionery."

She gracefully waved her hand, and instantly-- huge platters of French pastry filled the bridge.

"Help yourselves...bon appetit," she smiled.

Kirk pulled the first officer aside. "Spock, what did I do the last time we encountered a big busted, oversexed female humanoid with the mind of a child?"

"You spent four weeks on penicillin, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's real, Jim," Bones said as he ran his tricorder over the closest serving dish, almost salivating over the pâtisserie. "Honest-to-goodness cream, sugar and vanilla. Not fabricated...and it smells delicious. Want a piece?"

Spock briefly glanced at the doctor with a slight frown. How could McCoy focus on calorie-laden sucrose and fat when a huge pair of tits had taken control of the Enterprise?

"May I inquire how it is that you are familiar with Earth's history?"

"We LOVE Earth history, but of course, we live so far away, I'm afraid that we're only up to viewing the 18th century. The light...the images from the Sol star system take eons to reach our viewers. It's part of our lessons, studying primitive cultures."

Marie ran her fingertip through some vanilla icing, and licked it off with the tip of her tongue.

//Why is she sucking cream off her finger when I'm standing here with hard-on?// Kirk thought, trying nonchalantly to adjust his trousers.

//Why is she sucking cream off her finger when Jim's standing there with a hard-on?// Spock thought, trying nonchalantly not to notice.

Spock reluctantly turned his attention to the female alien. "Who are 'we'?" he asked.

"Trelane and I."

"Trelane! You mean, General Trelane?" Kirk gasped.

"Oui, Trelane is my... mon frére plus âgé. Of course, that's not his real name, but he insists we call him Trelane or he throws a fit. He's sooooo immature."

"Your older brother?" Kirk translated.

"Oui. Il est un idiot."

"Why are you here?" Kirk questioned.

"Trelane frequently talks about how much fun it was to play with you. Of course, now he prefers Klingons, but they aren't very nice. They swear too much. Nasty, ill-tempered species." She wrinkled her nose. "So I decided to fulfill your _wish_ , Captain Kirk, and take you back with me."

"My wish? How in the world-"

"Let's just say I happened to be eavesdropping..." Marie smiled coyly, but did not elaborate.

"Anyway, I like humans, and Vulcans are...très fascinants, n'est-ce pas?"

She batted her big blue eyes and glanced at Spock from under her dark lashes.

The first officer's eyebrow shot up in startled surprise.

For a brief moment, Kirk was secretly aggravated. At least _he_ had had a shower this morning. Obviously, there was no accounting for taste when it came to adolescent girls. Spock might have a huge proboscis, but nothing could compete with Jim's commanding presence, boyish charm, and carefully waxed chest.

Perhaps if he ripped his shirt...

"I'm sorry, but that's just not possible...unless you intend to use me... in some weird breeding experiment..." Kirk began, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Commencez le jeu!"

She stamped her foot, obviously having had enough of the delay. "Tiens. Jouons!" And with a wave of her hand, she disappeared, and Kirk, Spock and McCoy disappeared along with her!

After running every sensor, the crew realized they had no idea where their commanding officers had gone or how to get them back.

They had literally vanished into thin air. But the worst part was that all the pastry had disappeared too!

**********************************

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy materialized along with Marie in what looked like an 18th century French ballroom, complete with Louis 16th furniture, rich drapery, and opulent carpets. Candlelight glowed from massive crystal chandeliers. A glorious four-poster canopy bed filled an entire corner of the huge chamber.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy stared wide-eyed at the overwhelming splendor. They had only seen such antiques in museums or in art history books.

"She only kidnapped the three of us, no redshirts," McCoy shrugged. "At least no one is going to kick the bucket."

Marie twirled in front of them, the long folds of her gown sweeping the marble floor.

"I decorated the room myself. Beautiful, don't you think?"

"I prefer the Adirondack style," Kirk shrugged, "Birch-bark bed, moose head food replicator, latrine built from Jack Daniels bottles, but to each his own. Look Marie, if I'm not going to get laid, or get my shirt ripped, then we must return to our ship. Now."

She stopped spinning and flopped into a chair, then tilted her heart-shaped face, smiling demurely.

"Éventuellement, but I'm bored. Play with me."

" _She's_ bored?" McCoy grunted. "Well, my dear girl, join the club." Bones turned to the captain. "Damn you and your wish, Jim. I'm a physician, not a bloody nanny."

"Do you promise to return us if we agree to stay for a little bit?" Kirk asked.

At the moment, without her cooperation, it seemed that they had no choice but to remain. If the girl was getting her power from one of the mirrors in the room, it would be almost impossible to figure out which one. The room was filled floor to ceiling with bronze mirrored panels.

"Oui!" Suddenly excited, she waved her hand again, and instantly all three officers were wearing 18th century costumes just as lavish as hers.

Spock was dressed in baby-blue satin breeches, white hose, a tight-fitting jacket complete with the appropriate ruffles and flourishes. It made him look rather effeminate, all decked out in soft, foppish lace and silk.

Kirk shook his head in amusement. In that array, Spock reminded him of a drag queen he'd seen on the planet San Phran Cisco.

The captain didn't realize, until he gazed down, that he was dressed in a virtually identical outfit, except that his was gold lamé.

McCoy was positively outlandish in turquoise and pink brocade, a cut-away tunic and matching cropped trousers. The mirror-bright, high-heeled shoes with the jeweled buckles didn't improve the look of the outfit.

"God, I need a drink," the doctor muttered. "I have no intention parading around in this get-up sober."

"May I recommend something with a paper umbrella?" Spock casually crossed his arms, unable to hide the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"You do that, and I'll tell you, in explicit medical terms, what you can do with it," Bones shot back. "I swear, if I still had a working kidney, I'd sell one on the black market for a gallon of Bourbon and a very long straw!"

The beverage (including straw) appeared at McCoy's feet. The doctor reached eagerly to pick it up.

"Take it easy, Bones. This is no time for us to get pissed-faced or we'll never get back," Kirk cautioned. "Damn shame, though...it looks so...tempting."

"Indulge if you must," Spock interjected. "Vulcans abhor alcohol, therefore I shall abstain from any consumption to insure your safe, albeit shamelessly intoxicated return to the Enterprise."

"Just imagine, Jim," McCoy bristled, "a whole species of designated drivers on a planet that invented prohibition. Isn't that clever? Talk about efficiency. Do you want me to hand over my car keys now, Mr. Spock, or shall we wrestle for them later?"

Marie interrupted by clapping her hands imperiously. "Venez, mes amis! It is time for you to amuse me!"

*********************************

For more than two earth hours, all three officers grudgingly reenacted skits, recited poetry, and even danced the minuet. Marie directed them through their paces like a drill sergeant, but became infantile and petulant when they were slow to respond.

Then she insisted that Spock play a duet with her at the harpsichord. Her skill in music was considerable and even Spock found it difficult to keep up with the speed of her fingers as they flew over the keys. When he made a slight miscalculation in the rhythm, she stopped playing, leaned over, and promptly kissed him on the cheek.

"If you'll stay with me, you'll have lots of time to practice," Marie whispered into his delicately pointed ear. "We could make beautiful music together, n'est-ce pas?"

Mortified, Spock glanced at the captain, and silently mouthed the word "help."

The Vulcan was at the limit of his endurance. The lace was beginning to irritate his neck, his breeches were riding up the crack of his butt, and he was abysmal at dancing the minuet, anyway.

The first officer's composure faltered, and he blushed a dark green. To make matters worse, she was now practically sitting in his lap. Marie's incredibly low décolleté left little to the imagination, and at his angle of view, Spock found himself starring directly at her ample bosom. It did nothing to pique his interest. Breasts bigger than a handful, he thought abstractedly, were an illogical waste of resources. But a firm ass, well rounded, supple, swelled red with the imprint of his palm...ah, yes, even a Vulcan could. . .What was the question?

"Madam," Spock said, "I am unable to comply with your request. We must return to the Enterprise immediately. The crew will be concerned for our safety."

"No! You will stay here, all of you, until the game is finished."

"We've played your silly games long enough," Bones grumbled, "Now be a good little bitc-er, girl and send us back!"

"Non!" She waved her hand. Without warning, McCoy's arms began to grow, his incisor teeth lengthened, and he sprouted profuse amounts of body hair.

"Damn it, Jim," McCoy hopped up and down in exasperation, "I'm a doctor, not a missing link! Do something!"

"Marie," Spock interjected, trying to maneuver of her clutches, "Stop this at once. We are not toys for your personal amusement. We are Starfleet officers."

She turned, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "I like your ears..." she purred in perfect Vulcan, making it quite clear that Earth wasn't the only planet she had studied. "They're much more esthetically pleasing than human ears." She reached up to run her finger along a pointed edge, but Spock drew back, taking her hand and pulling it aside.

"It's not polite to touch someone's erogenous zones without taking them to dinner first," he replied in his native language. "On Vulcan, we call this part of courting 'plak chow' - the time of eating. It is also ill-mannered to keep us here against our will."

Her blue eyes narrowed, and she stood up. "You are all staying here, and that's final!"

Kirk lost the rest of his patience. "I believe that someone needs a good spanking. Where are your parents?" Kirk abruptly started to walk towards her, prepared to take her over his knee.

//A spanking? Excellent idea, Jim// Spock thought. //Perhaps I can locate a sizeable wooden paddle and...//

Instantaneously, all three officers found themselves digging out from under yards and yards of fabric that they soon realized were the outfits they had been wearing. Unfortunately, as the men soon realized, the clothes had not changed in size; the men had. McCoy was still some kind of primate, but the men were now approximately eight inches tall, and under all the fabric, they were naked.

Each quickly grabbed the nearest edge of fabric he could lift and tried to drape it around himself, but the enormous costumes were useless as clothing. They resorted to wrapping themselves in their lace handkerchiefs, which were now the size of blankets in relation to the men.

Spock twisted the ends of his giant handkerchief around his waist, knotting them as best he could.

"Spock, analysis?" Kirk asked.

"Captain, although Auxology demonstrates that phenotypic size can never exceed the genotypic size and the Secular Trend provides ratios of acceptable parameters, we must conclude that the theoretical relationship between our current dimensions and previous volume has been engendered by..."

"In English."

"We're in deep shit, Jim."

"Recommendations?"

"First, we delouse monkey-boy, then-"

"Spock, you green-bloodied, devil-eared, hobgoblin, just wait until..."

Spock ignored the doctor's irksome chattering and non-stop scratching, and looked up at Marie.

"As I once told your brother, Trelane, I object to intellect without ..."

Without warning, he was turned into a lizard.

The deep, velvet tone of his voice was suddenly gone, replaced with a mere squeak. He sounded as though he had inhaled helium.

"...discipline and to power without constructive purpose, " Spock literally hissed, his long tongue flicking the air.

Spock transformed again, this time into some kind of insect. Twitching his antennae in irritation, the Vulcan chirped, "These childish antics are unworthy of such a highly developed species."

Marie giggled uncontrollably. Spock braced himself to change into...beef jerky, a garden slug, a roll of toilet paper...

Instead, he was restored to his own body-except that his form was still only eight inches tall.

"You're funny!" Marie chuckled, picking Spock up in her gigantic hand, rubbing his left ear with her fingertip. He squirmed, trying to break free, but she carried him to the bed and sat on its edge. She eyed the covering around his waist. "Do Vulcans and humans have any other physical differences, aside from their ears?"

Spock raised an eyebrow; a hint of sternness crept into the Vulcan's normally unemotional voice.

"Marie, I would not appreciate being further unclothed. In fact, I would find it most objectionable should you confiscate this handkerchief. And you will  
refrain from attempting to prod any more of my body parts with that oversized digit. I may be diminutive, but I am quite capable of incapacitating you with a nerve pinch, even if I have to jump on your shoulder and use my feet."

Suddenly, Trelane, the Squire of Gothos, appeared in the room.

"Marie, I....." Trelane stopped when he saw what his sister held in her hand.

"Mr. Spock!" Trelane exclaimed. "How wonderful to see you!"

"Oh, shit!" McCoy grumbled, "Not HIM again."

Trelane spun around and spotted Kirk and McCoy still standing in the huge puddle of silk and lace.

"Captain Kirk...and a flea infested Yeti-I mean Doctor McCoy! Marie, wherever did you find them?"

"Go away, Trelane!" she yelled, rolling her eyes. "They're mine. Go play with your stupid Klingon soldiers!"

"Stop being such a bovine," Trelane chided. "We can both play with them."

"No!"

The Squire walked over and picked up Captain Kirk. "Who says that size doesn't matter?" Trelane laughed, staring at the one inch penis that peeked out of the lacy fabric Kirk had draped around himself. Kirk tugged at the handkerchief until he wasn't quite so exposed "Put me down!" he ordered, his voice three octaves higher than usual. The difference in pitch made his command much less effective than he had hoped.

"Temper, temper, Captain..." Trelane grinned, turning to his sister. "How about we use them to play chess? I'll get my Klingons, and we'll match them against the crew of the Enterprise!"

"I love chess!" she exclaimed. "Do you like to play chess, Mr. Spock?"

Spock jumped from her open palm onto the bed, picked himself up with as much dignity as he could muster and said, "I _am_ somewhat familiar with the game."

"Vulcans are masters of chess," Trelane sighed. "Don't you know anything, Marie? Of course, they've never played our kind of chess."

Trelane waved his hand and instantly the bed was transformed into an enormous chess board, with the corresponding black and white squares.

Neatly lined up on one side - Klingons! Fifteen living Klingon warriors, and one Klingon female, without doubt abducted and brought here just as the Enterprise officers had been. And it was a colossal understatement to say they were not pleased at having been shrunk to the size of action figures. Kirk had never seen such a surly bunch of combatants. It was obvious by the malevolent expressions on their faces that they were just itching to carve the humans into bite size pieces.

On the opposite side stood the Enterprise crew, also pint sized. Captain Kirk was the King, McCoy and Mr. Scott stood on the squares reserved for Bishops. Chekov and Sulu were Knights, and Mr. Yo No Sé, and his cousin, Lt. Yo No Cuido, occupied the squares reserved for Rooks.

In the front line stood eight trembling security officers.

Both armies were now wearing medieval court attire, complete with period weapons. Captain Kirk and the corresponding Klingon King wore golden crowns and ermine capes and had broadswords strapped at their sides.

Sulu and Chekov and their counterparts were mounted on real horses and dressed in armor, and they carried both shield and lance. Their steeds pawed the ground, snorting in readiness to charge the field.

Suspended at the top of wheeled towers complete with trebuchets, Mr. Yo No Sé and Lt. Yo No Cuido, glanced down nervously.

The four Bishops, including Doctor McCoy and Mr. Scott, wore long black robes and clutched heavy Bibles, and the security Pawns were outfitted in blood-red tunics, armed with cross-bows and equipped with quivers of razor sharp arrows.

Spock could not repress a slight gasp at the incredible scene. He pondered just how serious this game of chess was going to be and how literally Trelane and Marie would enforce the rules of ritual combat.

The chief engineer raised his fists in an Aberdeen boxing stance and shouted over to the Klingons, "Pick yer winda, ya saft tatties! I'll mullet ya hither and yon, ya horde of Midden puddocks!"

"Spock, what the hell did he say?" Kirk whispered.

"I believe Mr. Scott said, 'Pick your window, you soft potatoes. I'll physically strike you back and forth, you assembly of unhygienic and slovenly frogs'. It may lose something in the translation, Captain."

"You have no Queen, Marie..." Trelane suddenly realized. "No matter, the Vulcan will have to do. If anyone is worthy of being Captain Kirk's paramour, he is."

Trelane stifled a wicked giggle as a verdant flush darkened Spock's cheeks.

Then the Vulcan felt an inescapable force pulling him into position on the board. When he reached the square beside Jim, his feet stopped moving, and he found he could not will them to budge, no matter how hard he tried.

The lace handkerchief covering his lower body vanished, and in its place appeared a long, flowing gown. The skirt's waistband cinched Spock's middle tightly, forcing his chest upwards. The low-cut bodice reshaped his pectoral muscles into something resembling cleavage, although the billow of dark chest hair did not enhance the effect.

The hair on his head lengthened into a cascade of silky black ringlets, and a lavish crown, encrusted in jewels, perched on top.

The Vulcan inwardly winced, but he remained composed, despite the fact that Captain Kirk was staring at him with his mouth wide open—

As there was nothing Spock could do about his apparel, his appearance, or the situation, the first officer decided to remain calm and console himself with the knowledge that he was the most powerful piece in the game. His captain could only move one square at a time, and McCoy would be vertically challenged, but Spock _ruled_ the board.

He found the trade-off surprisingly satisfying. Without a hint of smugness, he casually tossed a wayward curl off his shoulder.

"Let the game begin," Trelane shouted. "Tally-Ho!"

The Squire of Gothos and his sister took their positions. Marie began first, as she controlled the white pieces, the Enterprise crew.

Sulu's charger hurtled over the startled security Pawns to land to the left of the front line, almost throwing him in the process. He grabbed a fistfull of mane and held on for dear life, his eyes wide. He hated horses-a thousand pounds of muscle with a brain the size of an avocado, and just as stupid. He might as well be riding a Gorn.

Trelane immediately countered, positioning a pawn two squares forward, opening the way for his Klingon Queen to maneuver.

Within a few minutes of simple moves and countermoves, the game had turned interesting...and deadly.

The Klingon horseman made a sudden charge, the blunt end of his lance thrusting down into the groin of a distraught Enterprise Pawn. It knocked the man to the ground, where he rocked back and forth groaning, clutching at his testicles.

"Ouchnik," Spock heard Chekov mutter, "Dat's gotta wurt." The first officer turned to see the young Russian's hand automatically adjust his shield across his lap.

The wounded Pawn's body instantly vanished as the Klingon Knight took his place.

McCoy abruptly slid four squares on the diagonal, coming face to face with another ferocious Klingon pawn. Mortified, but unable to control his actions, the doctor hoisted the heavy Bible towards heaven, then he began to bash the warrior in the face with the scriptures. Unable to defend himself, the Klingon soon crumpled on his square...and disappeared.

Trelane wheeled a tower forward and launched boulders from its trebuchet at Mr. Scott. Fortunately, the engineer remained protected behind the defensive line, but a security officer took a direct strike in the chest that flung him into the air and off the board with a dull thud.

"Cossack!" Chekov yelled, leaping into action. His stallion crashed into Trelane's Bishop, knocking the Klingon down. The warrior let out one blood-curdling scream before he was trampled under hoof, then he vanished.

Trelane instantly launched his Queen into play. She crossed the board with a cry of victory, and captured her prey-Mr. Scott.

Embracing him, she began to seduce the engineer, rubbing her breasts against his robe, and although he couldn't resist, did he not seem to resent the fondling, only the odor.

"Unusual cologne, lass. Must you baste yourself with it?"

Suddenly, she was pushing him down on the ground, and she immediately straddled his hips. She fumbled under her long dress, her actions making it evident that she intended to "take" him in the literal sense.

"Aye, go gentle with me. It's been a long time since I've had sex with something that dinna come with a manual."

Every eye on the board watched in stunned silence as the Klingon female began riding Mr. Scott with a wild abandonment. Both of them seemed to be enjoying themselves as they went at it in the middle of the board. Within a few minutes, both the Klingon and Scotty were groaning, then gasping loudly in pleasure as they climaxed simultaneously. Then their chief engineer vanished.

"Sweet Jesus," McCoy sputtered, "Talk about 'coming and going' at the same time..."

The Queen stood up, pulled down her skirt, and took Mr. Scott's place with a smug smile.

Spock felt his legs move forward suddenly. He glanced at the captain as he quickly crossed the board, heading straight for Trelane's King. Two squares away from the brutish sovereign, Spock skidded to a full stop. His adversary was formidable, a giant even among Klingons, and this Goliath raised his sword, standing ready to cut off the Vulcan's head at the first opportunity.

"Check," Marie said, and waited smugly for Trelane's reaction.

Spock scanned the board with a detached, analytical air. He could see a number of possible outcomes, none without peril.

Trelane paused, his forehead furrowed, then he made his move. He maneuvered his wheeled tower to block Spock, and shot Marie a satisfied look. She contemplated her options. She could either take his tower, sacrificing the Vulcan to that nasty Klingon King or...she could counterattack.

Spock felt himself being spun around, lifted over Chekov and Sulu, and set down face to face with the Klingon Queen. He had _captured_ her!

"Touché, little sister!" Trelane said. "This should be quite interesting, in more ways than one!"

Spock glared at Marie, but she merely shrugged. Spock relented. He was loath to admit it, but her move was the most logical choice, all things considered.

The Klingon woman didn't put up a fight as Spock was forced to yank her skirt up, push her down to the ground and mount her. Under their dresses, neither was wearing any undergarments.

Spock fought vigorously against the alien minds manipulating him, but he could not control his body or his actions. He was suddenly extremely aroused, even though what he was being forced to do was abhorrent to him. He had no alternative but to physically "take" the female that lay beneath him.

The opponent's Queen stared at him fiercely, and a sheen of perspiration broke out on her swarthy skin.

Spock whispered in Klingon, "I shall endeavor to be gentle, and expedient, if possible. Then again, Vulcans have a slight problem with delayed ejaculation...this might take hours...days...perhaps even..."

"Get on with it, Vulcan," she replied in her native language. "I take pleasure where I find it. Prepare to be fucked so hard that you'll need to unzip your ass to take a piss."

********************************

The remaining members of the Enterprise crew couldn't avert their eyes, even if they wanted to.

Spock's low, unrestrained moans and the Klingon female's gasps were incredibly erotic. A heady mixture of Klingon pheromones and Vulcan musk filled the air as the two writhing bodies rutted in the middle of the board.

The unbridled enthusiasm with which Spock took the Klingon female, and  
her obvious delight in being taken, shocked everyone but the two participants. If any Enterprise officer had ever thought Spock dispassionate, a cold fish in bed, the vision of this scene erased that impression forever. His endurance, stamina and dexterity put humans to shame.

//Christ, I'm getting a woody!// Jim thought, grateful that his cloak concealed his growing erection. He'd never fancied Klingon women, but _Spock_ was something else!

The Vulcan wore an expression of intense concentration, and the firm yet fluid strokes of his penetration were incredibly stimulating. Spock's hiked-up skirt permitted full view of his gluteus maximus as it contracted in a forceful rhythm.

Glancing around, Kirk saw that he wasn't the only one who was excited. Chekov was practically rubbing himself, his gaze fixed only on the first officer.

The captain had never seriously considered Mr. Spock as a possible sexual partner. Not that homosexuality bothered Kirk, as he had been a bisexual for years, but the idea of romantically pursing his first officer wasn't something he had ever earnestly contemplated-until now.

The only problem was, it looked as if he had competition. Once they got back to the ship, he'd have to keep his eye on that damn horny cosmonaut with his fake Russian accent. Little weasel. Everyone was wise to the fact that Pavel Chekov (aka; Bernie Schwartz) had actually been born in a four-story brownstone in Hoboken, New Jersey.

*********************************

Four hours later...

Clenching his eyes shut, Spock blocked out everything but the mounting pressure building in his groin and the curious sensation of the Klingon female's ridged, leathery orifice. She urged him to thrust harder and faster, and he was more than willing to comply. He was just warming up.

He pushed her legs wider with his knees and shifted position, bringing all his strength to bear. He plunged vigorously, and she took the full length of him in, grinding her pelvis against his slim hips.

Never before had the Vulcan been able to exert all of his unrestrained power and fervor. In the few encounters he had had, he had controlled and repressed his arousal as so not to injure his weaker partners. In all honesty, he had found those experiences to be frustrating, and the orgasms less than satisfying. Now, he was free to indulge the full measure of his masculinity and passion, even though he was forcibly dressed in a ridiculous outfit and made to have sex in public.

Spock was oblivious to all but the astounding sensations flooding his body, and he strove to delay the inevitable as long as possible. But as the Klingon's quivering ridges began to vibrate as her climax ripped through her, he abruptly responded to the peculiar feeling that his cock was being rhythmically chewed. A rather disconcerting image of "vagina dentata" briefly crossed his mind before the volcano inside him rose up and exploded. As the first wave hit, he cried out with a fierce groan that tapered into a long, drawn-out sigh.

When his sensibilities finally returned, Spock was mortified. Humiliated.

He had never experienced premature ejaculation before.

Spock withdrew from the female and rolled onto his back. Under normal circumstances, he would have fallen asleep immediately, only to be awakened shortly after with a severe jab to the ribs for excessively raucous breathing. But he could not disregard the fact that his Enterprise crewmembers, irate Klingons, and malevolent alien entities were all gawking at his rather generously proportioned genitals. Unfortunately, forty winks, with this kind of audience, were not an option.

"Bravo!" Trelane called out. "A bold effort! Well done, Mr. Spock!"

Then the female vanished, and the Vulcan rose to his feet. Tugging his skirt, smoothing the folds back into place, he addressed the Squire of Gothos.

"Your skill at chess is abysmal, but typical for someone of your intelligence. In fact, if your IQ were two points higher, you'd have the intellect of a rock."

"How dare you!" Trelane shouted. "I am a master of chess and I can beat anyone in this galaxy!"

"Indeed. Would you care to put your boast to the test?"

"You are challenging me?"

"Affirmative. Permit me to finish the game and checkmate will be mine in four moves."

"And if you lose?"

"Lose?" Spock's eyebrow quirked up fractionally, "A novel idea. But for argument sake, _if_ I am defeated, I promise to remain here with you and Marie permanently. If I win, all of the Enterprise crew and the Klingons shall be returned, unharmed, to their respective ships."

"A wager! Oh, how wonderful! I accept!"

"Spock, no!" the captain shouted. "If he tricks you into losing, you'll be forced to participate in perverted sex with an endless menagerie of bizarre creatures for their twisted amusement!" Kirk paused, then added, "On second thoughts, I'll stay!"

The first officer ignored the captain. He could not let Jim make such a noble and selfless sacrifice.

At least, that was the Vulcan's story and he was sticking to it.

Spock quickly scanned the board. Marie had, unfortunately, overexposed her right flank. Even with the Klingon Queen departed, Trelane had more pieces in play and held the superior tactical position. With foreboding, Spock calculated the odds that the Enterprise crew would prevail. To succeed under the existing circumstances would be extremely difficult, as Spock did not wish to place the remaining crew in any serious physical peril.

Trelane pondered his strategy very carefully, then moved his Tower into jeopardy. He had placed the Tower where it could be captured without his getting a piece of equal value in return.

Spock immediately realized Trelane had put the tower "en prise," or "in take." Sometimes a cunning player would place a piece "en prise'" in order to trick an opponent. If Spock took the bait and captured the offered man, it might leave him open to attack. And yet, there would be one less Klingon to contend with.

Spock quickly countered. "McCoy to E6".

McCoy slid abruptly to the appropriate square, holding his breath in the hopes that the pointed-eared son of a bitch knew what he was doing. McCoy came to stop only a few meters from the massive Klingon King, who clutched obsessively at his broadsword, which, McCoy concluded, could remove his heart in one nasty stroke.

"Spock, some advice," McCoy gritted between clenched teeth. "Just remember, a sucking chest wound is Nature's way of telling you to pace yourself..."

Trelane, now on the defensive, shifted his Klingon King one square. Bones breathed a deep, audible sigh of relief.

Pausing for a long, drawn out moment, Spock finally said, "Mr. Chekov to D4".

The massive steed hurtled forward with a fierce snort, smashing into Trelane's tower and demolishing it, leaving only a cloud of dust and debris that gradually settled on the board.

Seething with anger, the Squire realized he had two options; push to capture Captain Kirk, or protect his own King. Unwilling to be trapped in a corner, Trelane hesitated. Everyone tensed as they waited to see what he would do. Spock had only two moves left before he would forfeit the game...

Maneuvering his remaining tower deep into enemy territory, Trelane went for the kill.

Kirk winced as the trebuchet reloaded in preparation, holding a massive rock aimed straight for him. He knew that on rare occasions Spock had lost a game of chess when confronted with an aggressive, illogical strategy. As hard as he stared at the board, Kirk couldn't fathom how his first officer could get out of this predicament.

"Lt. Yo No Cuido to H8," Spock said evenly. His face was a blank mask, a shield that would hide any inner emotional turmoil that Trelane might be able to read and take advantage of.

Seeing victory in his grasp, Trelane smirked and positioned his Bishop to block Kirk's escape.

Kirk clenched his eyes shut and prepared to be knocked ass over cartwheel with a boulder to the head. He'd rather die fucking something. At this point, even the horses were starting to look good.

"Queen to B8," Spock said. It was his fourth and last move...

The first officer slid gracefully across the board and immediately rendered the Klingon King unconscious with a neck pitch.

"Checkmate," the Vulcan stated with satisfaction and finality.

Trelane's jaw dropped open, and for once he had nothing to say. He had made a fatal error. In his haste to triumph, he had forgotten that Spock was not only his opponent, but a dangerous piece in play on the board. "No!" Trelane whined. "It's not possible!"

Spock raised a curious eyebrow. "Indeed, quite possible, for I have won. As you said, Vulcans are masters of chess, although on my planet I would be considered something of a novice."

The Squire of Gothos' face turned dark with uncontrolled rage.

"Rematch! I insist on a rematch!"

"You've lost, Trelane," Kirk shouted. "Honor your wager. If you renege, you are nothing but a pathetic liar, a sore loser, and a stupid...poo-poo head!"

Trelane stood up, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "You...you all deserve to die for that insult!"

"Yeah? Let me turn on the part of my brain that gives a damn," Kirk said, yanking off his crown and throwing it down.

Suddenly a cool gust of perfume filled the air, as though a door had opened and someone had come into the room.

"Trelane! Marie! What's going on in here?" a mature feminine voice demanded.

Startled at the interruption, everyone stopped, their eyes searching for a figure or form, but finding nothing tangible.

"I've just about had it with you two," the ethereal voice scolded. "Just wait until your father gets home."

"Who are you?" Kirk asked.

"The babysitter, Captain Kirk," came the weary reply. "And they just aren't paying me enough to take care of these two little monsters..."

"I want a rematch!" Trelane shouted, and stamped his foot. "I would've won! I would've!"

"That's quite enough, Throckmorton."

 _Throckmorton_? Spock and Kirk glanced at one another. So that was the little bugger's real name.

"General Trelane. You will call me General Trelane!"

Ignoring the outburst, the disembodied voice continued, "I apologize for the unpleasantness of the children. For them, you are simply pets to play with, not unlike Earth children who dress up the family cat. In time, they will outgrow these juvenile antics."

"We aren't the bloody family cat," McCoy grumbled, offended. "And what in the blue blazes were you doing while we were being subjected to every possible  
humiliation these two little sociopaths could think of to torment us with? We're intelligent humans ..."

"'Intelligent humans' is an oxymoron," the babysitter remarked tersely. "But you all will be returned to your ship and your pathetically one-dimensional lives without delay."

"Au revoir mes amis," Marie said, waving her lace handkerchief, "Don't forget to write..."

***************************************

The officers materialized on the bridge of the Enterprise, transformed back to their normal size and in uniform. They were none the worse for wear. Kirk breathed a triumphant exhale of relief.

Mr. Scott smiled broadly when they appeared; he and the rest of the captured "pieces" had been returned earlier, and had apparently suffered no ill effects. Even the security Pawns had rematerialized, alive and well. It surprised the hell out of everyone. Requisitions to replace the redshirts and condolence letters to their families had gone out the minute they had been abducted from the ship.

When the hoopla calmed down and everyone had returned to his or her post, Spock approached the captain.

"Permission to retire to my cabin and shower, sir?"

"Permission granted...and thank you, Mr. Spock. Your skill... your... _moves_ were extraordinary to watch. Quite enthralling..."

"I possess many abilities that you may be unaware of," Spock replied tentatively, uncertain of the captain's subtext. "In better circumstances, perhaps I may have the opportunity to demonstrate them for you."

Lowering his voice, Kirk said, "It would be my fondest _wish_ for you to do just that."

The seductive tone in Kirk's words reminded Spock of the times he had observed Jim courting an attractive female. The Vulcan could not but hope secretly that he had not misread the human's newfound interest.

"Jim, there is an ancient Earth proverb, 'Be careful what you wish for; it may come true.'"

Kirk laughed hard, then leaned forward and whispered so quietly that only Spock could hear, "There's another old saying: "If wishes were horses, we'd all be riding Vulcans."

Spock's eyebrow shot up so high it tickled the back of his neck.

The first officer barely choked back a guffaw, hastily turning his surprised chortle into a respectable coughing fit. Even so, his grand mal didn't fool anyone on the bridge.

As he returned to his quarters, he struggled to analyze Jim's sudden and obvious attraction for him, and what, if anything, he should do about it.

On entering his cabin, however, he lost that train of thought; he immediately noticed that something was amiss. His three-dimensional chess set had been moved slightly. He examined it more closely, and was startled to discover that the white Queen and the white King had been fused together.

Beside the intertwined figures lay a written note:

My dearest Mr. Spock and most worthy opponent,

I may have lost the match, but the game continues. I shall be watching to see how you fare in your next challenge. Until then, I'm sure you will find a way to keep your captain's boredom in "check"!

Tally-ho until we meet again!

Yours truly,  
  
The Squire of Gothos


End file.
